Food of Yesterday: Subway sandwich, 97th and Broadway

I caved and ate a foot-long tuna sub with spinach and all the other vegetables. Subway has a few tables, occupied mainly by strange-looking single people, or nannies, or the nearly homeless. I eat with a vacant look in my eyes. I hadn't eaten much that day. I am one of those single vagrant folk myself.

Subway is filling after a half a sandwich. Then you forget you're eating it, and suddenly the sandwich is gone. I can't explain it.

The staff here are quiet, like they're keeping a secret. I always feel like the joke's on me. The line is also odd. It begins at the end of the narrow store, so you have to push through to get on it. It's like a two-dimensional idea in a one-dimensional universe.

By the way, welcome back to the Wandering Chew. I'll be posting now, semi-regularly.